


NO NAME

by Etched_in_Fire



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Abuse, Dark, Gen, Reference to Torture, please dont read if you are squimish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 23:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10627134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etched_in_Fire/pseuds/Etched_in_Fire
Summary: Failure always has a price.





	

His hand came for her like lightning against a tree.  The thunder of his strike roared in her ears and she tasted her own blood.  It tasted so familiar, like a friend that she had not seen in years.  Her nails dug into the nearby table’s surface, dragged to scar the its wooden flesh.  She cursed herself as her fingertips ate splinters, but the stinging in her face and hands were nothing compared to her pride.  Failure weighed upon her as heavy as his wrath.  She hated herself for it.

“I gave you a _name_ ,” hissed the Master, his words like knives to her heart.  She recoiled and could not meet his eye.  She looked at the droplets of blood from her lip as they splattered on the table.  His voice cut through her thoughts—she could never ignore the sound of it, not in a million years. “And _this_ is how you thank me?”

She quivered beneath him, willing herself to die now.  Quickly and painlessly.  She closed her eyes, her heart beating in her ears.  The world spun when she opened them again and part of her dainty frame collapsed further onto the table.  His shadow fell over her and she knew the severity of the situation.

“I don’t think you understand what it is you’ve done,” he growled. “Look at me!” When she did not, his massive hand seized her by the chin and forced her sanguine eyes into his.  His body heat felt cold to her—as heartless as a winter’s bite.  Each of his fingernails were untrimmed and nicked her skin.  

“You let her escape.  And now Cyprien is _dead_!” the Master snarled into her face.  She smelled his breath, felt his saliva, and cowered further into the table, praying it would somehow absorb her so that she could escape his judgment.  But she knew deep down that there was no ship that could take her far enough to evade what he was about to mete out.  There was no chocobo fast enough to flee from him. His bloodlust was written in his muscles, in his clenched jaw.  She was already on the table, but he pressed her further into it, his free hand slamming onto her collarbone.

“I am s-sorry,” she whimpered.  Tears clung on her lashes like dewdrops in the morning, creating dancing lights in her peripherals.  She hoped he did not see them—he loathed it when she cried and she could not afford to enrage him further.  

“Your bleating won’t save you,” His hand on his collarbone shifted, moving out of her sights.  Her heart raced faster then, searching for where the hand had gone.  

I will do b-better…!” she insisted.  “Please…”

“Stop it.  I don’t want to hear you.”

Tears streaked down the sides of her face.  His hand about her neck tightened—she could see him trying to suppress his rage.  Within his eyes, she could see that he was breaking… and wondered what the Ultima would take from him?  After all, it was upon his request that she even ascend to the rank of Shemhazai.  Suddenly, his fear gave her clarity and she pitied him.

“Tell her… tell her to h-harm me,” whispered the Xaela, her grip around his wrist tightening, almost affectionately. “It was not y-your fault… You s-should not s-suffer…”

“Shut up!” he snarled and shook her once more. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, stifling a cry. “The Ultima knows whose fault it is.  And I can tell you now, it is not my position that is in jeopardy!”

“Then… then why…?” she whispered again but her question was cut off by the unkind back of his hand.  She could not hold back her yelp this time and her tears splashed the wood of the table.  Her crimson eyes met his again after a moment and he curled his lip at her out of disgust. His claws dug into her the back of her neck again and she vainly struggled under him.

There was something in his other hand.  She could see it glinting in the dim light.  At first, she did not understand what it was—he hid it from her in his massive palms.  The Master snarled down at her, bestial and unbridled.  His wrath perfumed him—sweat dripping from his forehead as he released his fury.  She should have known not to question him, not to speak when he had told her to be silent. There was fear in his eyes still—fear of the Ultima.  Fear of something else.  Something greater.  He had seen something she had not and when she realized this, her fear was doubled and her frail form quaked.

He produced the item in his hand.  It was a thin blade, made for shallow cuts. Incisions.  She had seen him use it on the animals he brought in for testing. He was always playing around with the deer, the rabbits, the poisons, the _surgical equipment_.  Her eyes widened.

                                              

* * *

 

The salt of the ocean kissed her as it drifted by in the breeze.  She loved the way the wind felt in her short-cropped hair, which seemed to illuminate with purple and sunny orange.  The Xaela ran her hands through her spiked mane, feeling quite light.  Ever since her trip from Othard to Eorzea, she had favored the small of the sea.  She found herself basking in it more as a distraction, closing her sanguine eyes and feeling nature work around her.  The Xaela smiled a small, soft smile, but it vanished as soon as her crew greeted her at the Thanalan docks.  

“Lady Chinua,” Bremigrym, her faithful second-in-command, said to her, dipping his head in a shallow, but still respectful bow. “We’ll be departing for Aleport shortly.”  

She looked to her subordinate with golden-rimmed eyes.  One of her scaly hands made its way to her throat, to the trace marks of a tiny, precise scar.  “Thank you,” Chinua said in a hoarse voice, giving a raspy cough afterwards.  She glanced back at the small hamlet of Vesper Bay, her hand moving from her neck to the blade at her side.  

There was no room for failure.  Not this time.


End file.
